


The Slytherin Drabbles

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-21
Updated: 2006-02-17
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: This is going to be a multi fic story based on different slytherins' lives. Of course, many of our favorite Gryffindors will be making an appearance as well. Enjoy!





	1. Black Daughters

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**_Disclaimer: Everything from HP books belongs to JK Rowling_ **

**_A/N: The timeline in this is AU because I felt like making it that way. So the marauders happen to be older than Lucius even though I know he’s actually the elder one._ **

** Black Daughters **

They were bound to each other, bound by blood, bound by love that could never fade away. _A picture is worth a thousand words._

There’s a picture of the three of them hanging in Grimmauld Place. It’s a dark picture, most of the pictures of them are, and it hides a legacy behind its frame, the lives of the three most intriguing Blacks. It holds mysteries, the mysteries of their lives, of their deaths, and sometimes if a person stares at it too long he or she feels coldness climbing up their spine, hears menacing whispers in their ears. It’s haunted. It’s as haunted as the lives of those three girls. It’s as haunted as the shadows hidden in their eyes.

The painting itself is very serene. It has a sterling silver frame, a black back drop, and their clothes are a somber mix of white and gray. The subjects don’t move except for in their eyes, which if you look at the right moment you may catch one of them blink for a second. You may see them look to each other as if sharing in some joke, as if divulging some important information they can tell only to themselves. The painting itself is very plain. There is nothing special about the three children posing in the painting. There’s nothing eye popping or colorful to help catch an observers eye. At a glance, those three girls are normal teenagers, just the victims of overbearing, overachieving parents who like to exert power over the weaker humans. At a glance nothing will jump out at a person, nothing will take someone by surprise. At a glance.

On a stool in the front sits a petite girl with no smile lighting up her face. She’s about fifteen in that picture although no one would ever be able to know that due to her dainty frame and innocent appearance. She doesn’t smile, just stares into space with hard eyes and her trademark scowl that, instead of diminishing her looks makes her even more gorgeous. Her skin is as white as a ghost and her hair as dark as night falling perfectly straight over her delicate frame. Her lips are redder than a rose and her eyes are a piercing, stormy gray. She is beautiful. She has always been the most beautiful out of the three sisters. She has always been the one you should fear the most. The one who would feign innocence and loyalty in order to achieve a desired end. The one who used the childish beauty of her looks to gain the advantage she loved to take. And yet, she’s the one who could have manipulated the world. She is the one who could have won any person’s trust she wanted to.

Standing behind the stool is a tall girl of seventeen. She has a small smile on her face and her bright blue eyes glow through the paint. Her light brown hair tumbles in ringlets down her shoulders and the ends of her hair are hidden behind her younger sister’s chair. Despite the smile she wears her posture, her eyes, everything is as cold and as hard as the smaller girl before her. Everything about her eyes makes a bystander shiver in even the hottest summer days. It’s as if she, as if they all, can look into your very soul, see into your very mind. It’s as if they’re there before you and only then, when the painting seems to come alive, can a person stand in front of the painting completely entranced. She is a pretty girl. Her skin is darker than the other child’s, her hair is longer and lighter, and she doesn’t look as if she’ll break at the touch of a hand. She has none of the sister’s fragility, none of her sister’s astounding beauty. Instead of beauty, she has strength. Instead of coldness, she has fierce goodness just ready to break free.

A small girl stands next to the stool. Although standing she reaches the same height as her sister sitting next to her. She has long blond hair with a black headband on her head. Her face doesn’t smile, her eyes don’t shine, and despite the coldness of her every feature your heart would warm at the childishness of the girl. She looks more innocent than the other two and couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve. She looks as if she holds a secret and in her left hand a piece of crumpled paper sticks out very slightly. Her head is held high and she looks nothing like her two elder sisters, has none of their darkness, none of their passion. It’s as if she’s just there, a beautiful child passively waiting for life to pass her by.

A picture is worth a thousand words and anything to do with the Black family has to be worth at least twice that amount. Let’s take one scenario. The eldest smiles slightly as if defying her parents, her heritage. The eldest smiles as if she’s about to embark on some adventure, but not wide enough for anyone to be able to see it at a glance. She smiles secretly through her confidence. Take this idea for a ride.

Two weeks before this picture was painted there was a fight in the house. The eldest sister was caught in a bad situation. She’s a Black, the eldest daughter of the Black line, the hopes of the family. She was caught mingling with a muggle one day as she snuck into the muggle world. Caught by one of her Aunts or Uncles or other crazy family members as she sat with him in a muggle park and kissed him in the moonlight.

A few months prior the eldest Black daughter fell in love for the first and the last time. It was her first time in muggle London. It was her first time anywhere besides Hogwarts or her own manor. She met him at a park she went to when she needed to escape. She was sitting on a bench and he came to sit down next to her, pulled out a newspaper, and yet looked at her and said, _You’re in my seat_. He thought she was beautiful when he first met her. Thought she was strange. Thought she was unique. And for some reason he felt compelled to talk to her, felt compelled to meet her in the same spot day after day.

They went on their first date few days after. They went dancing at a muggle club and then went to a muggle restaurant where she had her first taste of muggle food. They walked on a moonlit beach and when he begged her to meet him the next day she shyly said she would try her best. Then, he kissed her and she felt everything a girl in love should feel. Warmth spread through her body and after a life of coldness it’s what this girl needed most. She decided to meet him every day.

One day they met in that exact spot. They kissed when they saw each other, inquired after one another’s health, only that day, everything was different. He stroked her cheek, kissed her eyelids and told that her he loved her. At first she was scared and backed away. She told him that he didn’t know her, know her family. At first she cried because she thought it would be impossible, that she and he could never work. Then, she looked at him, melted at the pain etched into his eyes as he tried reasoning with her and told him that she loved him, too.

Two weeks before this painting was created the eldest daughter of a prestigious family was struck for the first time. Two weeks before the painting was created a girl cried and cried that she was in love as her parents tried to beat that feeling out of her. Two weeks before this painting was created two young girls looked on as their elder sister was punished for mingling with those of less pure blood, with a boy who wasn’t even of wizarding heritage. Two weeks before this painting was created a young girl sent an owl to her forbidden lover begging to help her escape. Two weeks before this painting was painted, as the girl sat at her window and wiped away her tears, the eldest Black daughter decided to break free.

A week after the painting was finished she was gone. A week after the painting was finished her draws were empty, her books were gone, and all that was left of the eldest Black sister was a quick note scribbled in black ink, were memories each person had of her. She didn’t say goodbye.

A week after this painting was finished Narcissa walked into an empty bedroom and cried as she smelled the scent of her elder sister. She cried when she remembered sneaking off to a muggle park with Lucius. Cried at the surprise she felt when she saw her sister sitting on a bench with a boy she never knew and kissing him. She cried because she never meant to drive her sister away, never meant for her parents to make Andromeda choose between love and family, between blood and love. She cried at the realization that she’ll never see Andromeda again, and that it was all her fault.

A week after this painting was finished Bellatrix swore she would never follow in Andromeda’s footsteps. A week after this painting was finished Bellatrix sat at her sister’s desk, slept in her sister’s bed, and wondered every second when she would see her again. A week after this painting was finished she heard a door slam in the middle of the night, ran to her window, and saw her elder sister climbing onto the night bus. A week after this painting was finished a young girl turned cold at the emptiness of her sister’s room, turned hard at the sadness she saw in her mother’s eyes and she made a vow to herself. She swore she would never break her mother’s heart. Andromeda did that enough, already. Her heart, from that day forth, was turned into stone.

How about this one? The girl sitting on a stool lusts after a Gryffindor boy and yet dreams about a sister that ran away two years prior. She’s seventeen when she falls in love for the first time. Andromeda was seventeen when she left, and yet the middle Black daughter always felt compelled to live up to her family’s expectations, always felt compelled to be the best Black she could be. One day she’s walking along the grounds of school and sees him by the lake with three of his friends. She doesn’t know two of them that well, only that they’re both purebloods and Gryffindor scum and hardly worth her time. The third friend she knows well and she sneers as she looks on at her cousin, the blood traitor of her family, and the cousin she loved the most. She won’t speak to him anymore, won’t look at him, always remembering the vow she made the night her sister ran away. She looks back at the boy she can’t stop thinking about. She stares at his messy hair, dreams about his hazel eyes, and walks back to her common room before he could look over and see that she was there.

She stares at him again during dinner the next night. She glances at him as she slurps her soup, glances at him as she pretends to listen to Narcissa gab about her potions essay. He catches her. The boy looks up and stares into her cold gray eyes before she looks down with a slight blush on her cheeks. She looks up again after a few seconds and smiles slightly when she sees he’s still looking. He smiles back.

She bumps into him in the library one day. She is working on a history essay and he comes in with his quidditch robes still on, his transfiguration notes falling out of his bag. He sits down at her table as she looks at him trying to hide her surprise. She looks away quickly as he chuckles. He could almost smell her fear, her eagerness. They don’t utter a word for the whole time he’s sitting with her and he leaves before she realizes that McGonagall didn’t assign a transfiguration essay. Before she figured out McGonagall didn’t assign any homework at all. She almost calls out for him as he walks out of the door, but her dry lips won’t move and her throat won’t allow her to speak.

She bumps into him again a few days after that in the Astronomy tower. He walks in as if he fully knew she would be there and stares at her as her abnormally pale skin glows in the moonlight. The torches, the stars, the moon, they all seem to enhance her beauty and sometimes he imagines he fell in love with her that night. Sometimes he imagines that night he knew he would love her forever, and then he remembers to forget about her. He remembers not to think about the middle Black daughter. He walks up to her that night slowly and strokes her cheek as her head rests inches below his. They stare into each other’s eyes as he strokes her cold face. She kisses him, kisses someone for the first time with real feelings attached. Later that night as she wanders back to her common room she’ll swear to herself she could do that for the rest of her life.

That night she dreams about her older sister and the night her parents caught Andromeda with a muggle. She hears the screams, sees the blood on her sisters cheek, remembers the black eye, and then she wakes up in a cold sweat panting like a child who’s afraid of the dark. That night she tries to rationalize her love for him. Andromeda fell in love with a muggle. She fell in love with a Potter, one of the oldest and purest wizarding lines in history. She fell in love with one of the richest heirs in the world. But, his family is against everything hers stands for. Her family hates everything his family adores. She cries herself to sleep when she realizes for the first time that he could never be hers.

The next day she’s cold to him. She won’t meet his stare, won’t answer any notes he writes and when he tries to talk to her in the library she runs away. He wants to yell and scream and tell her that he may love her. He wants to tell her how he feels despite who she is, despite who he is, and he wants to tell her that he knows how she feels. That her eyes don’t hide emotions as well as she thought they did. But she ignores him, ignores her screaming heart, and at dinner that night she starts a conversation with Rodolophus Lestrange. It’s better to be safe than to be alone, she thinks as her minds wanders to the sister she hasn’t heard from in over two years.

What about the youngest sister? The girl seemed passionless even at the young age of twelve, but she had to have some of her sisters’ ability to feel, ability to love. Take this. She meets him when she’s seven at a party his parents were hosting. She doesn’t like him then. She doesn’t like his hair that seemed very white, doesn’t like his smile which she felt was mocking her, and she doesn’t like his eyes that she felt saw into her very soul.

At fifteen she fell in love for the first and the last time. At fifteen, she looked at this boy she knew forever and decided that he was it. He was a free spirit, a lot like Sirius was in his younger years except without the talent of pranking, without his enormous sense of humor. She sometimes wonders if that’s why she fell in love with him, because he reminded her of her estranged cousin she was banned from seeing, from loving. Because when Lucius was young he had passion .When Lucius was young he was free. And she loved that about him, loved the smile that put a blush to his usually white face, loved the eyes that would or would not have a sparkle. She just loved him.

Take this. He comes to her house for Christmas the year they are sixteen. His parents attend the ball her parents throw and he spends the night in her bedroom. They act like children together and spend the day prior to the party playing in the snow. They spend the day decorating the Christmas tree or “accidentally”� getting stuck under mistletoe.

She dances with him at the ball that night, every dance with him, every moment with him. And when the guests start leaving she takes his hand quietly and leads him upstairs to her bedroom and closes the door. She knew that she loved him that night, knew that she would love him forever, and for a few short months she felt luckier than her older sisters’ had ever been. She would never had to make the choice between her family and love.

When she’s seventeen his parents were killed by aurors. That’s what he said. He said that it was aurors, those damn muggle loving fools who ripped the life out of his father. She tried to comfort him, he wouldn’t let her. She tried to love him, he wouldn’t let her. And when he left Hogwarts for the funeral, he left her alone in a stone tower at Hogwarts waiting day and night for his return.

When he comes back his eyes are stony and his skin cold and she cries that night knowing the boy who came home to her was not Lucius. When he saw her he didn’t smile, when he kissed her there was no emotion, and when he said goodnight he didn’t touch her, didn’t once beg her to stay with him for even a moment longer. He wasn’t the Lucius she fell in love with, she thought that night. She loved him anyway.

The next day he was still empty, she ignored it. A few months later, when his eyes still remained hallow, she screamed at him in the common room about his lack of emotion. She screamed at him in the common room that he treats her like crap, that everything he is has become crap. She yells profanity his way, hits him across the face, and when that doesn’t even make anger flicker across his face she breaks down and cries. She cries loud noisy tears and yells that she loves him, that no matter what she won’t stop loving him. He holds her that night, holds her, kisses her, tells her he loves her. She knows he was telling the truth. The next day she walks down to the common room with her hopes higher than they have been in months. When she spots him with his two friends she screams his name and her heart breaks as she looks into his dead eyes. Nothing changed from the night before.

But the painting is just a snapshot of their life, a small look into the mystery of the daughters of the House of Black. They now live completely different lives: one content in the muggle world; one protected under the power of the dark lord; and the last stuck in a now loveless marriage waiting for the day when her husband’s eyes sparkle the way they did when he was a child. But once they were as close as their figures on the canvas, eternally bound to one another by blood, by a sisterly love that never disappeared.

Take this, when Andromeda was twelve she taught Narcissa how to braid her hair and taught Bellatrix hexes on her wand. When Bellatrix was eleven she taught Narcissa how to punch a guy while their cousins came for the usual summer visit. Take this, on Christmas night for over eleven years the three sisters would stay up way into the morning, sit by the fire, and just be with each other. For over eleven years they loved each other and yet, no one would be able to realize that love if they ever met one of the Black daughters. No one would see the indestructible bond that could never fade away. But once many years ago, each of those girls had a deep love for each other and if you stare at the painting long enough, look at the wandering eyes which hold so much mystery, you’ll be able to see the love that lies beneath the canvas. You will be able to see the love that even the most somber paint couldn’t hide.

**End**

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	2. Graduation

**_ Graduation _ **

“Do you think this ever gets easy?”�

“What are you talking about?”�

“Life! Do you think it ever gets easy?”�

“We don’t do things the easy way.”�

“Can’t we?”�

“You’re a Slytherin, Parkinson! You aren’t one to look for the easy way out.”�

“What’s the easy way out of life?”�

“Death. Only death.”�

“I don’t want to die.”�

“You don’t even know what you want.”�

“Yes I do. I’ve always known what I want out of life. I’ve been waiting for graduation since foreverrrrr!”�

“Really? That long?”�

“Oh, yes. After Hogwarts, Malfoy. That’s when it all will happen.”�

“All of what? You speak in riddles, Parkinson.”�

“Life, Malfoy! Our life will begin once we leave this…this…this prison and are free! Finally able to live the way we want to.”�

“You don’t call this living?”�

“You do?”�

“Why not? Do we not rule the school? Are we not the beautiful people of Slytherin? Have we not experienced plenty within these walls?”�

“Beautiful? You would call me beautiful?”�

“Beautiful, cold, everything I want in a girl.”�

“Prat”�

“What? It’s true. Who really wants a girl with a heart anyhow? Girls who can feel are overrated.”�

“Are you saying I can’t feel? I can, you know I can!”�

“Puhlease, Parkinson. You’re like a rock.”�

“A rock?”�

“Cold, hard, unbreakable.”�

“I do too feel, Malfoy. I feel… I feel like crying and I don’t know why.”�

“You never cry Parkinson.”�

“You’ve just never seen me.”�

“I can’t imagine you crying. Are you even human enough for that?”�

“Of course! Bloody hell, Malfoy. I’m human enough for that and for this!”�

_She kisses him_

“What was that for?”�

“To prove to you that I _am_ human.”�

“From a kiss?”�

“Yes, a kiss.”�

“That doesn’t prove anything. It’s not as if we’ve never kissed before.”�

“Oh, yes. We kiss all the time, but the point is, Malfoy, is that I _feel_ something when I kiss you.”�

“Do you?”�

“Stop being so indifferent, Draco. You know you feel something too.”�

“Do I?”�

“Stop it, Malfoy! Stop it right now. You know you love me.”�

“Do I?”�

“You do Malfoy, you so do.”�

“No, love is bad for the image.”�

“Oh you Malfoys and your image. It’s always about appearance with you isn’t it. You’ll be that rich, power hungry tyrant with the beautiful girl on your arm and a room full of perfectly behaved heirs.”�

“You mean _you’ll_ be on my arm.”�

“You have to ask me first.”�

“So Graduation tomorrow, huh?”�

“Yeah, I’ll miss this.”�

“School?”�

“No! You and me and…us.”�

“There won’t be anything to miss, Parkinson. We’ll be together.”�

“Forever?”�

“Don’t be so naÃ¯ve, Parkinson. You know I can’t promise you _that_.”�

“Oh yes you can. Who else will you find to put up with you like I do? I’ve loved you for seven years, Malfoy. Count them, seven! Who will you find to love you more than I do?”�

“Who says it’s about love?

“It’s always about love. Even for us Slytherins.”�

“Love complicates things.”�

“Love makes life worth living.”�

“What do you know about love?”�

“I know that I love you. And I know that you love me. And I know that no matter what we’ll be together.”�

“How?”�

“I just know. You love me. Stop denying it already.”�

“Just don’t let it get around.”�

“That Draco Malfoy loves someone other than himself?”�

“Yes, exactly.”�

“Your secrets safe with me.”�

“Want to finish off our whiskey? We won’t need it after tonight.”�

“What? And have hangover at Graduation tomorrow?”�

“Yup.”�

“In front of my parents and your parents and the faculty _and_ our fellow students?”�

“Yup.”�

“Ok.”�

“So, what should we drink to?”�

“To Graduation?”�

“Something Better!”�

“To life?”�

“No”�

“To us?”�

“Perfect!”�

“To us!”�

“To us!”�

“It won’t be so hard, Pansy.”�

“What won’t?”�

“Life.”�

**End**

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	3. Magic

**_Magic_ **

They met years ago…

She was a fresh graduate from Hogwarts. Eighteen years old. Beautiful. Clever. Frustrated with everything her parents taught her. She packed her bags in the middle of the night. She crept out of her house quietly and never once looked back until she was safely on the knight bus. She remembers little things about that night. She remembers shivering from the coldness of her room and the eerie reddish glow of the moon. She remembers kissing Bellatrix goodbye as she slept and touching Narcissa’s long, thick hair. It could have happened the other way around. She isn’t sure exactly and sometimes she thinks that maybe she doesn’t remember that night as well as she thought she did. It was a **very** long time ago.

She was eighteen when she walked out of her house because she had a longing in her stomach to climb over the stone walls surrounding the manor and see the world her parents hid from her. She had a longing for freedom, for wind in her hair, to eat spaghetti the muggle way. She had to leave, had to get far away from magic, from witches and wizards. _She went to muggle London._

She remembers leaving a note...

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I’m sorry. But, this is the best thing for me. Life was strangling me. I love you. Tell Bellatrix and ‘Cissy I love them too._

_Andromeda_

But when she thinks about what she wrote in that letter she doubts every word and sometimes thinks that maybe she never wrote it at all. She sometimes thinks she just imagined it. Like when she said she loved her parents. _She had to of imagined that._

So, this girl, _freshly eighteen,_ ventured outside of her secured walls for the first time, packing some clothes, her wand and a few spell books. She was young, _only eighteen,_ not caring that she had no where to go only that she was going somewhere. She had to leave, had to go somewhere that nobody knew her name, where nobody believed in magic.

She grew up with magic. She grew up with wands and spells and hair that _if you say the right words_ change colors with your every mood. She grew up with pots washing themselves as the spoiled rich girl who had house elves doing everything for her. She grew up racing on broomsticks and enchanting people with potions yet when she allows herself to think about it, the magic she grew up with was hardly even magic at all. The magic she grew up with was hardly magical compared to the reality she had delved into years ago. Compared to love. She hardly touches her wand anymore. She hardly does any spells. She remembers loving magic _color changing magic_ and loving every spell she could do with her wand. She hates it now, though. No longer understands the wonders of a world she once knew so well. But still, this story was years before. _She was eighteen_.

She walked out of the Knight bus that night and into his bar. Now he grew up in London. Grew up in the city streets as an ordinary muggle boy. That was what she called him when he first met her, first hit on her. “ _You dumb muggle!”�_ she remembers crying. He looked at her confused when she said that and asked if her she was foreign. If this was her first time in London. _“Why yes it is”�_ she had said rather politely. He sometimes thinks he loved her when he first saw her. That he loved her thick, wavy, black hair. That he loved her milky white skin. He looked at her, saw sadness in her pale blue eyes and felt his stomach stir. _Magic_ he thought instantly. 

She was shocked when his hand rested on hers for the first time and when he kissed her he swears bells went off in his ears. He insists he heard a choir of birds singing just for them. _Magic, he would say years later as he put his arms around her. She would push him away._ And they fell in love like that. He showed her all the sights of London. Showed her the football field he used in high school and showed her the castles that littered the landscape. He showed her the historical museums she never heard about and the clubs all the young people frequented. And for a while she lived life with him as a muggle in his beloved London _without magic_.

They were married within months. Stars still in their eyes and his love for her still as strong as ever. They got married in a small church in London, the muggle way _without magic, well, without **her** kind of magic. _ It all feels rather sad to her when she thinks about it. She remembers looking at the door hoping to see her family, wishing Sirius was in the crowd making faces, and hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘Cissy’s doll like presence. She remembers looking around for her cold sister’s sneering face, for the dark beauty she always envied.

_They weren’t there._

She remembers smiling wide at him on their wedding day. She remembers the happiest day of her life. She remembers a beautiful gown, a handsome groom, and magic. There had to have been magic. _Her memory was never that good._

They lived near the magical world because she thought her kid would want an owl and, _truth be told,_ she wished to be close to her family while still being quite far away. Ted, he always loved the magical beans of every flavor, always loved the card games that would blow up as he played. She laughed the first time he burned off an eyebrow. _She didn’t laugh much after that._

But, he loved London. Loved the smell. Loved the air. Loved waking up in the morning, walking into **his** bakery and smelling the crumpets. When he lived with her he missed the people, his London friends. He missed reading the sports section of the paper with Jack and hearing about Kim’s illicit love affairs over a scone. He missed the smugness of the air when he breathed in and missed riding the underground with John. He missed the feel of London, the magic of knowing that he was home. _He thought he would miss her more if he left for London. He loved her. She made him feel magic._

She sometimes wonders if he loves London more than he loved her. She stares out the window and thinks of him. She’ll say his name aloud “ _Ted, Ted, Ted Tonks”�_ and she’ll slightly cry at the reality that sets in on her, at the pot washing itself in the kitchen sink, and at the wand laying beside her on the table. She misses the muggle world sometimes. Misses walking into the bakery and watching his eyes light up as he smelled the crumpets. She misses the way he smiled back in London, the glow constantly on his face. But in the muggle world she missed herself.

She met him one day, loved him the next day, and saw his back walking away the day after that. She doesn’t blame him, doesn’t hate him at all. It was her fault. She pushed him out the door. She looked at him with hard eyes, with Black eyes, and said, “ **You can’t understand**. **”�** _Understand what? Understand magic?_

He pleaded with her for a long time. It sometimes seems like years and he feels he grew old while pleading her. _“No.”� he would say, “I love you. You love me. I love magic.”� She would shake her head._ “ _It’s not about magic, Ted! Everything you were is in London. Everything I am is… is here!”�_

She met him one day and fell in love with him the next. Fell in love with him as he gave her a tour of London. Fell in love with him as she rode on the underground for the first time and ate a crumpet from his bakery. She fell in love with him as he picked up a fork and said, _“Here, you eat spaghetti like this”�._

She met him one day and fell in love with him the next. He read to her sport statistics and she showed him the cards she collected from the chocolate frogs. She met him one day and fell in love with him the next when they danced in the moonlight and swam naked in a lake.

“ _We had some wild times in London when we were young, didn’t we Andromeda?”�_

**_She smiles sadly_ ** _._

“ _You miss London, don’t you, Ted? You miss it a lot.”�_

She seems broken now. Nymphadora is grown and in Hogwarts. Her parents, Aunt, Uncle, and Reggie are dead. Her cousin is in Azkaban for doing the family business. Her cold hearted sister went crazy in a cell with her husband. Her ‘Cissy is locked away in a loveless marriage. And, sometimes, she sees him leaving all over again. _She felt broken._

“ _Are you happy Andromeda?”� he used to ask her everyday._

“ _Are you?”� was her instant reply._

She could never give him a straight answer. Even at their wedding when he politely inquired about her happiness she calmly stated that she was quite fine. _Are you?_

He missed life in London when he lived with her. He missed reading the sports section. Missed basketball. Missed football. He went to a quidditch game once and couldn’t follow. “ _Ted, it’s an easy game, really. That’s a quaffle and a chaser has to throw it through those three hoops there. And that’s a bludger. It’s used to…”�_ But he never could understand the game. Just like he couldn’t understand magic, _her color changing magic._

“ _Ted, you have to go back!”�_

“ _You belong there…in London… with them!”� They pleaded with each other daily, both fully knowing they loved each other, and yet with the knowledge that their hearts were light years away._

She belongs in a world comprised of magic. She belongs with her licorice wands and pictures that moved, a world that was inhabited by the craziest people imaginable. She belongs in the magical world, with its fights over blood and terrorisms continually going on outside the large stone walls of her manor. She belongs in a world she once tried to escape from. _She would never make that mistake again._

He belongs in London. Belongs with morning crumpets and belongs with landscapes that littered of castles which seemed **more** magical than her entire world. He belongs with the dirty subway stations and belongs with newspaper pictures that stay stationary. He belongs with the type of magic a person feels, not magic a person does. _His heart never left London._

It took years of fighting for them both to realize that they didn’t belong together, even though they loved each other.

“ _You need to be happy, Ted. Just leave!”� she would cry._

But he couldn’t leave. For years they stayed together because her eyes were still a pale blue, still slightly sad like the day they first met in the pub he once frequented. He couldn’t leave because he knew her skin was warm where he touched it and when he kissed her he swears he heard bells.

“ _Andromeda, I want to stay. I want to be with you.”�_ _He says in his mind wishing to tell her everything he feels. Wishing to spill his heart out to her but realizing, as always, that the words are caught within his throat. So all he does is stare out the window._

“ _I wonder if it’s raining in London.”� He would say instead._

She feels old. Older than she should feel, although it was years ago that she was eighteen. She remembers leaving her house that night. Remembers climbing over a stone wall, remembers writing a short note with a quick word of regret. She remembers the kisses she gave her sisters and the tears she tried not to cry. But she can’t remember if she told her family she loved them. She can’t remember if she kissed Narcissa on the cheek or if she kissed Bellatrix instead. She can’t remember if she cried because she was sad to be leaving or ecstatic at the freedom that instantly became hers. She feels old. Has grown old since that night in the bar when she met the only man she ever loved, and yet, feels as foolish as an eighteen year old girl.

“ _It’s **always** raining in London, Ted.”� She would reply._

She cried the night he left. He didn’t understand it. He cried that night, too. She didn’t understand that. He kissed her before he left.

“ ** _I feel magic when I’m with you Andromeda.”�_**

“ ** _Maybe that’s the problem, Ted.”�_**

END (I have to pay compliments to Liebling for this one. I got the idea from one of her stories.)

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	4. Mirror

**_Disclaimer: Everythin from HP books belongs to JK Rowling_ **

**_Mirror_ **

“Well ,well, look who it is. A brave little lion in the snake pit.”�

“We need to talk.”�

“I wasn’t under the impression that we talked. We yell, fight, scream. I don’t think we talk.”�

“Bella, I’m bloody serious.”�

“Since when? Since when are you serious about anything besides turning your back on me? On your family?”�

“That’s none of your business.”�

“It is my business, Sirius! You didn’t just walk out on your parents and Regulus. You walked out on me, too!”�

“Bella…”�

“Go away, Sirius. Slytherins don’t like hanging out with Gryffindors.”�

“I may be a Gryffindor, but I’m still a Black.”�

“Oh, _now_ you’re a Black, but over Easter you decided to be a Potter?”�

“Where I live does not change who I am.”�

“And who are you? Mudblood lover? Dumbledore’s prodigy? Dammit Sirius, we had plans. We had…”�

“Things change, Bella.”�

“Things don’t change. People change.”�

“I’m still the same person I was a month ago. I’m still your favorite cousin.”�

“You were never my favorite cousin. Maybe Andromeda’s but never mine.”�

“Oh, really. Than all those letters and proclamations were lies.”�

“No more so than this faÃ§ade you enjoy putting on.”�

“It isn’t a faÃ§ade, Bella. You hate it don’t you. You hate the fact that I broke free and you’re still stuck playing the perfect daughter to their Evilnesses.”�

“Tell me what you want.”�

“I told you. I want to talk to you.”�

“And I already denied you your offer.”�

“Bella, I just need to explain myself. I need you to understand.”�

“I understand plenty, Sirius. I understand what you walking out the door meant better than any.”�

“Bella, stop being such a whore and allow me to apologize. Allow me to set it right.”�

“You can’t set it right. You can’t change what you did and you can’t take it back.”�

“I don’t want to. I don’t care about setting it right as you say. I’m happy about what I did and won’t even pretend to regret my decision for you. All I’m asking is for you to hear me when I tell you that I don’t want to lose you.”�

“Have you already said that to Narcissa? To Regulus?”�

“No, Bella! You’re the only one that ever mattered. You know that.”�

“I know nothing. I forgive nothing!”�

“Bella, I didn’t walk out on _you_. I didn’t leave _you_.”�

“Yes, you did! When you walked out on them you walked out on me, on all of us. You didn’t just turn your back on your parents. You turned your back on your heritage.”�

“But not _you_.”�

“Yes, me. I _am_ them, Sirius. I _am_ a Black. I am everything you never wanted to be. Everything you pretend not to be.”�

“I don’t pretend to be anything.”�

“You bloody bastard. You pretend everyday of your life. You and your Gryffindor ‘I’m so selfless I love mudbloods’ act is transparent to every single one of us. You’re just like us, Sirius, when will you finally realize that?”�

“I’m not like you, any of you.”�

“Yes, you are. You love torture. You love pain. You’re dark, Sirius. Darker than you can ever imagine.”�

“I’m not. _I’m not!”�_

“I know you, Sirius. I know you better than I know myself.”�

“That’s what scares me.”�

“Why can’t you embrace who you are?”�

“Because I want to be better than that.”�

“Better than me?”�

“You know it isn’t like that.”�

“But it is. That’s exactly what it’s like. You never will be, you know? Deep down you’re just like the rest of us.”�

“I know”�

“So why fight it?”�

“Because, I need to try. I can’t just conform because that’s what I grew up believing. Beliefs can change.”�

“I don’t want you to change.”�

“I can’t help it.”�

“Yes, you can. You made yourself like this. Don’t blame it on something different. You did this. You don’t see me changing, do you?”�

“Then change, Bella. Let us be cousins again. Turn your back like I did.”�

“Don’t you get it? This is who I am. I don’t want to change to be like them. Those people sicken me, Sirius. Mudbloods sicken me.”�

“Bella, remember when we were younger?”�

“I try not to. Sirius, go away. We don’t have time for Gryffindors in Slytherin.”�

 “I’m your cousin.”�

“No, you’re not.”�

“Don’t do that, Bella.”�

“You did it Sirius. _You_ , not me.”�

“How many times do I have to tell you that I…”�

“You don’t get it do you? They are me and I am them! When you denounced them you denounced me in the same breath.”�

“Bella, you’re the only one that matters.”�

“Your Gryffindor friends don’t think like that.”�

“They just don’t understand you like I do.”�

“No one understands me like you do.”�

“And vice versa?”�

“I hate you. I’m glad you left. I’m glad I never have to see you again.”�

“I don’t believe you.”�

“That’s your loss.”�

“You’re lying. I can always tell when you lie.”�

“Slytherins don’t lie. We manipulate the truth.”�

“That fact is that you don’t hate me. No matter what I do you’ll never hate me.”�

“Don’t be so sure.”�

“And why is that?”�

“You’re turning into them.”�

“I am one of them.”�

“Look in the mirror, Sirius. One day just take on hard look in the mirror.”�

“Why?”�

“Because then you’ll see what I see.”�

“And that is?”�

“A Black. I see a Black.”�

_End (Bellatrix/ Sirius)_

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	5. Taboo

_A/N: You may not appreciate the pairing but read it anyway!_

**_Taboo_ **

She likes to reach out and run her fingers through his smooth black hair. She likes staring into his eyes, those brilliant gray eyes that are so much like her own. She likes memorizing his high cheek bones and the statuesque look his face exquisitely takes on. She likes to look at him and see herself staring back. Every thing inside him, outside of him, is within her, outside of her. _We’re two of a kind_ , she thinks, _missing pieces to the same puzzle._

He looks up at her as she strokes his hair and smiles softly from his spot on her lap. There’s something about being with her, talking with her, that’s so comforting to him. It’s as if she can read his mind, understand everything he needs or wants because she’s completely connected to him. He’s on open book with her. He’s a boy dangerously close to falling in love with a girl who mothers would whisper about behind their hands. She isn’t the girl to bring home to meet the family. She’s isn’t the safe option for someone scared of what giving away your soul to another person could mean. She’s the embodiment of excitement and danger. She’s the embodiment of everything vile and passionate about the world and he’s dangerously close of loving her for all her vices. Silently, he grabs her hand from where it’s resting next to him and holds on to it tightly, afraid she’ll leave, afraid she’ll get scared away.

She grins back at him as she feels his soft skin around her small hand. _Dazzling_ , he thinks as her smile blinds him. _She’s dazzling_. He sits up suddenly and pecks her quickly on the lips. She giggles into his mouth and kisses him back instantly. She blushes like she’ll never do for anyone else as she feels his lips on her own. She smiles at him like she does with no other when she thinks for the thousandth time that he’s all hers. There’s something about him, about this, she thinks. There’s something about them and the dangerous lives they lead, something exciting. _You always want what you can’t have_ , she thinks, _you’re heart always aches for what’s forbidden._

He caresses her cheek and her eyes close as she relishes in his touch. They’re sixteen year old pureblood witches (wizards). Power and riches are at there fingertips and she knows that one day she’ll rule the world. She knows that one day she’ll have everything she ever wanted. She looks at him, her gray eyes unusually warm, and smiles before giving him a soft kiss on the lips. He’ll be there beside her. _No matter what they say, no matter what they do, he’ll be there_ , she thinks. Defying odds, defying those in power, it’s what she does best. She’s slytherin inside and out and no one will tell her that this is wrong, that she can’t have him. No one will take him away from her no matter what implication their relationship may bring. She loves him, there’s nothing more to say.

He sometimes feels guilty about the things he does with her. He sometimes thinks of the repercussions, of heaven and hell, of sins. He remembers touching her, kissing her soft lips, and feels his stomach quiver at the thought. He sometimes feels the need to pray to God or go inside a Catholic Church to confess to a priest. He sometimes feels the need to save his soul because the guilt of having her won’t stop haunting him. But then he sees her, face to face, eye to eye, and all those thoughts leave his head and he knows that she is it. He’ll never love anyone as he loves her. He’ll never open his heart to another as he has done with her. He needs her. In this time of killing, of war and betrayal, he needs her. And he looks at her, at her high cheeks bones, her sarcastic smirk and cold gray eyes and sometimes he feels as if he’s looking inside a mirror. Sometimes it’s as if he’s fallen in love with himself. As if he’s fallen in love with the person everyone wanted him to be. She’s the family’s prodigy, the dark child of the House of Black, and he loves her. Despite the fact that he hates all she stands for, he loves her. And she loves him, Gryffindor or not. Blood traitor or not.

This will have to end soon. How can it continue to go on? How will it be possible to always meet in the darkness of night? How can he hold her, kiss her, love her and not have someone find out? He brings it up sometimes. He brings up about what they should do after school, about what happens when they’re finally caught. She’ll look at him, excitement filling her eyes at the thought of their secret coming to light. Rage filling her eyes at the thought that he fears how others would perceive his love for her and she’ll stand up saying they’ll fight for each other. She’ll ask, _you’ll fight for me, right Sirius?_ And he’ll say so utterly defeated in his love for her, _there’s nothing else we’ll be able to do, Bella_. And then he kisses her. Kisses her long. Kisses her hard. Kisses her with everything he has making sure that she’s worth it, worth fighting for. Then he’ll step back, stare at her beautiful face, look into her cold eyes, and know that there isn’t a thing more important to him than she is.

They know it’s wrong. They feel sin tingling up their spine and whispering in their ear as they sit alone in the dark. They feel sin forever reaching out for them, beckoning them. But they ignore it. This is what she lives for, defiance, excitement, danger. This is the type of adventure that she thrives on. And him, she gives him the security he’s always needed, the love he never had.

He picks a blade of grass and transfigures it into a black rose. _It’s black, Bella_ , he says. _Black for your heart, for your family_. She looks at him and giggles. _Your family too, Sirius_.

**And they knew it was wrong. They just never cared.**

End

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	6. Seventeen

**_Seventeen_ **

They haven’t seen each other for years.

It was days, then weeks, and suddenly she was thinking about the last time she saw him three years ago. It was her birthday then. It’s her birthday now.

She was seventeen, clever and beautiful, with the world at her fingertips.

She was seventeen, bright eyed and happy, with him at her side.

She was eighteen, lonely and broken, with him walking the other way.

“ _What’s the point?”� She thinks over and over again to herself. “What’s the point in wishing for him to return, in missing him everyday? He’s never going to come back.”�_

She was seventeen and he bought her a diamond necklace with matching earrings.

He was seventeen, cold and handsome, with power accumulating in his hand.

He was seventeen, clever and young, with her at his side.

He was eighteen, confused and hardened, not looking back as he walked away, as he left.

“ _Hey kid.”�_

“ _I’m not a kid. I’m seventeen.”�_

“ _You’re still a kid.”�_

“ _You’re a month older than me.”�_

“ _Still older.”�_

“ _Hardly wiser.”�_

“ _Good birthday so far?”�_

“ _Could be better.”�_

“ _How?”�_

“ _You could be here.”�_

“ _I am.”�_

“ _Now, but I’ve spent all day hanging out with Millicent. Millicent annoys me. She’s so…”�_

“ _Annoying?”�_

“ _For lack of creativity, yes!”�_

“ _Please! She’s your best friend. You must like her a little bit.”�_

“ _Do you like your best friends?”�_

“ _Good point.”�_

“ _The only person in the world I like is you.”�_

“ _I’m touched.”�_

“ _You’re a prat. It’s my birthday. Must you be so sarcastic today?”�_

“ _I wouldn’t be Draco if I wasn’t.”�_

“ _And I wouldn’t be Pansy if I didn’t do this.”�_

“ _Ow_ _! That really hurt, Parkinson.”�_

“ _Call me Pansy. You’re my boyfriend, call me by my name.”�_

“ _Boyfriend?”�_

“ _Companion, life partner._ _I don’t know, call it what you like.”�_

“ _I…ah… I got you something.”�_

“ _You didn’t have too.”�_

“ _Of course I did. My mother, she helped me pick it out.”�_

“ _Your mother’s taste is impeccable.”�_

“ _Open it.”�_

“ _Malfoy_ _, this is too expensive.”�_

“ _Parkinson, you’re seventeen today. There’s no more important birthday than seventeen.”�_

“ _That’s what you said last year.”�_

“ _And I’ll say it again next year.”�_

“ _You better! You better say that every year for the rest of my life.”�_

“ _I’ll see what I can do.”�_

She watched him leave outside of a window. Heard the door slamming, and the Knight Bus arriving. She never talks about him, not to anyone. But Millicent has seen her sitting by her window on more than one occasion, her hand on the cold window, her nose scrunched up against the glass. She’s waiting for something, only she really knows what.

“ _So this is it, you just leave?”�_

“ _Pansy, everything is falling apart. My father’s dying for goodness sakes.”�_

“ _So what!_ _Don’t just give up because of your father. You hate your father.”�_

“ _You don’t hate people dying in Azkaban.”�_

“ _You do. You hate everybody, but me. You don’t hate me.”�_

“ _Don’t be so sure.”�_

“ _That was cruel, Malfoy. Harsh, really.”�_

“ _Do you really expect any different from me?”�_

“ _Yes, because you love me. You should treat me like you love me.”�_

“ _I’ll treat you any bloody way I want to.”�_

“ _Prat_ _”�_

“ _Look, this has nothing to do with you.”�_

“ _Except that I’m the one you’re leaving. Except that I’m the one who’s left alone.”�_

“ _Don’t be so dramatic Parkinson. It isn’t becoming in a slytherin.”�_

“ _I hate you.”�_

“ _You don’t really expect me to believe that do you.”�_

“ _You promised, Malfoy. You promised you would always be here.”�_

“ _Of course I didn’t, Parkinson. I would never promise something like that.”�_

“ _You did. On my birthday last year.”�_

“ _All I said was I would try. I tried.”�_

“ _No, this isn’t trying. This is running away.”�_

“ _Except I’m not running away, I’m walking. Walking slowly out the front door and you still can’t seem to stop me.”�_

“ _No one was ever able to stop you.”�_

“ _Good”�_

“ _Please. Please don’t go. What am I supposed to do without you?”�_

“ _You’re rather pathetic, don’t you think?”�_

“ _You were always supposed to be here.”�_

“ _It’s your fault for believing I would be.”�_

She watched him leave. Watched his exact steps for hours after he had already disappeared. It destroyed her, ruined her. And she began to wait for him to return, still waits for him to return.

She was eighteen, alone and miserable, forever looking for a way out.

She was eighteen, without the celebrations of last year, without the happiness.

She was eighteen, sad and beautiful.

She was nineteen, and everything he loved about her was slowly fading away.

She was nineteen, beautiful and young, always looking for someone who’ll never come.

She was twenty, older and wiser, sadder and lonelier.

She was twenty, still pining away for him, her nose hurting from the pressure of the glass.

She's twenty one, forever waiting, forever wishing in vain.

She’s twenty one; she likes to pretend to be seventeen.

“ _Come away from the window, Pansy. We need to cut your birthday cake.”�_

“ _Just a second, Millicent, he likes to watch me blow out the candles.”�_

**_End_ **

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	7. Gray

**_Disclaimer: Everything from HP books belongs to JK Rowling_ **

**_Gray_ **

She sometimes dreams about the night he left. She dreams about the screaming and about the tears streaming down her face. She wakes up crying, loud noisy tears that wake up Narcissa in the middle of the night. Her breath is always short and her eyes close rapidly trying with all her might to forget the memory she just saw. She wants to be strong, like she used to be.

She sits in front ofher mirror a lot. She stares endlessly at her reflection trying to figure herself out. She looks at her pale skin glowing in the shadows, her red lips curving into a cold smirk, and her eyes, cold and gray, like she always remembered they were. She touches her silky black hair, stares at the thin, straight strands and sees black. Forever sees back and she knows that everything she ever needs, ever wanted is within that color, that feeling, is within black.

But then she suddenly sees pain flicker in her eyes and her body flinches as she remembers his eyes and his hair. Tears will well up in her eyes and a harsh pain will form inside her heart. She’ll pick up the vase that sits beside the mirror on her night stand and fling it at the mirror as his face emerges on it watching as his reflection shatters to tiny pieces of hard, broken glass. And she stands there, staring into the shattered mirror, satisfaction reflecting back at her. Stands there happy that she was able to defeat his ever consuming memory for the upteenth time.

Narcissa usually enters the room by this time, quietly to make sure her elder sister is out of her rage. Narcissa will take her wand and fix the shards of broken glass, hating the coldness illuminating on her sister’s face, the hatred. And she’ll look at her, stare hard into Narcissa’s eyes, before walking past her doll-like sister and going down the stairs. Her head is held high as always.

She walks down the stairs slowly and unwanted images once again fill her mind remembering the last time his feet touch these exact steps. She'll remember until she feels like screaming at the top of her lungs. But she controls it right before she collapses on the first step suddenly drowning in images of that night all over again, watching him heave a huge suitcase down the stairs, remembering the look in his gray eyes as he stared into her own. And she’ll cry, not because she misses him and not because she wants him to be there, but just for the fact that he isn’t. He isn’t there when she needs a good fight. Isn’t there when she needs a companion to sneak some of his father’s alcohol with. Isn’t there to be a… a cousin. And as she wipes the tears off her face, removing every trace of their existence, she remembers that she hates him, has always hated him.

She walks down the stairs as she listens to her mother and Aunt making tea for lunch and chatting about their husbands ‘jobs’. And she turns away sneering from their empty prattle and walks to the fireplace as she shivers from the cold. She looks at their Christmas tree and sees the brilliant beauty they manage to put together every year. She realizes, once again, that it doesn’t need the ‘Black’ Santa Clause he had always hung on it. She realizes that their tree is much better without it. And she looks toward the mantle and sees a picture that her Aunt never had the heart to take down and stares angrily in those familiar gray eyes. And suddenly she feels the pain and hopelessness he made her feel that night, picks up the frame and throws it against the wall shrieking with anger as the frame shatters against the wood floor. Finally, she just bawls hating him more than before because of what he makes her feel. Only Sirius could make her feel so helpless. Only Sirius could make her feel so empty. And she never understood it, this pain she never stopped feeling.

Narcissa will come and put her arms around her sister, comfort her. But like always she shrugs her off, her pride winning out over her pain. And Narcissa leaves, joins her mother in he kitchen for tea, as she looks towards the broken frame. She walks over to the glass, to his picture, and runs a finger across his face. Tears drip onto the photo and she watches as his face smudges up. She takes her wand and fixes the frame, fixes his face and stares into the gray eyes that have been plaguing her since the last time she saw him. She’ll never forgive him, not for this, for leaving. And she places the picture back onto the fireplace and heads into the kitchen for join her family for tea and she forgets him. It isn’t that hard after she reminds herself that she hates him, has always hated him.

End (Bellatrix and Sirius cousin fic)

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